Christmas Melodies
by Macavity
Summary: This is a little thing that popped into my head from who-knows-where. A nice fic for Christmastime, I think. Someone's been playing the flute, and its haunting melody is heard by all...


Disclaimer: Sadly enough, they're not mine. And shame on you for even suggesting it.  
  
Seto: What have you got planned now, Macavity?!  
  
Yami: Something sneaky, most likely.  
  
Me: Well, you'll just have to wait and see.  
  
Seto: Crud.  
  
Author's Notes: For all of you who have read FOG's story, "Haunted by Desire", the flute idea was actually mine. This story was written with the Christmas spirit in mind, so put on some soft music, sit back, and enjoy!  
  
Macavity and Dragon Enterprises present.  
  
Yu-Gi-Oh!  
  
Christmas Melodies  
  
~*~  
  
It was the middle of December, only a week before Christmas, when the music first began.  
  
I was walking home from school with Yugi the day I began to hear it. The melody, the soft, gentle tones wafting down on the breeze from a place I couldn't determine. It was strangely beautiful to hear, but sad, as if the artist had some deep, longing sorrow that was fighting to emerge in that one particular song.  
  
I know music. I play violin in the school's band. Kind of a strange thought, I know, but the moment I first saw a violin, I knew I had to learn. As is, I'm the only stringed instrument in the band. I get a lot of solos that way, and lots of attention, but all that matters to me is the music.  
  
There's just something about being able to strum the notes, to actually feel them vibrating in your ears, that's strangely peaceful. Shakespeare once said, "Music has charms to calm the savage breast". I guess that's true. My violin is like a part of me.  
  
Whoever it was playing, the song was beautiful. After hearing that one, soft tune, I knew it would haunt me until I found the musician behind it. I split away from Yugi and the group, heading off to one of my favorite coffee shops in a little tucked-away corner of town.  
  
Like I said, it was the middle of December. A few stray snowflakes tumbled from the clouds in the blue-gray sky, warning anyone on the streets that their brothers and sisters would soon follow them. The wind whistled around me, playing with the material of my coat, inviting me to join in its dance. All around me, nature was singing its own unique song, telling the world that Christmas was coming.  
  
But for once, I didn't listen to nature. The sweet melody I had heard minutes before had entered my thoughts, enveloping them with its light, airy tones. I couldn't think of anything except that song. Who had written it? Why? Could I meet them? Would I ever hear the entire song?  
  
I settled into a booth, my back rubbing the beige vinyl of the seat, the steaming cup of cocoa in my hands extending an air of comfort around me. And now, peacefully holding my warm drink, I began to ponder the song. The music was faint to begin with; by the time it reached my ears it was almost beyond hearing. But even so, the mood and emotion behind the piece flowed through in a torrent of notes. The artist was definitely not an amateur; he treated his instrument like a dear friend, and in return, it allowed him to let out all his sentiment through it.  
  
I laughed slightly at how already I was jumping to conclusions. Who was I to say the artist couldn't be female? It was quite likely, in fact. But for some strange reason, I felt as if I knew this person. Just by hearing those notes, I felt a sensation of closeness to whoever it was. Maybe that's just me, speaking as a musician myself, but that's what I felt. With a sigh, I finished up my cocoa and headed home.  
  
But I couldn't forget the melody.  
  
The next day, walking home with Yugi and the others, I heard it again. I doubt any of them did, but for some reason, I picked it out. As if the music was calling to me. The day after that, I heard it again. Day after day, the melody continued; always at the exact same time, though not always the same song. Sometimes it was fast, upbeat; others it was slow and haunting. But always, always, it happened without fail.  
  
Finally, on Christmas Eve, I began to get curious. I had to find out who it was. So when Yugi, the group, and I walked past the place where I heard the music, I hung back. They continued on, not noticing I had stopped. After just a few seconds they were already half a block ahead of me. And then, at last, I could find the answer I had been searching for.  
  
Something drew me to the building a little bit behind me. It was a tall, shimmering skyscraper that stood out from everything else around it. It was not unattractive, in the true sense of the word-in fact, it was quite breathtaking-but it just seemed slightly out of place.  
  
When I walked nearer, the music grew slightly louder. Calling me.  
  
Without bothering to see where exactly I was, I entered the building, walking quickly to the elevator and rising to the top floor. A security guard behind the customary desk gave me an odd look, but shrugged and returned to his magazine. It took me a few moments to realize I was still carrying all my things from school: my backpack, a book, and most importantly, my violin case.  
  
At last the elevator emerged at the roof, and I stepped out to see my mysterious musician, playing a quiet, sad tune. A shining silver flute, the source of the music, was raised to his lips. His nimble fingers worked the melody in a way I had previously thought to be impossible. Though his back was to me, I knew who it was in an instant.  
  
But before I could say a word, he turned, sensing I was there. Surprisingly, his eyes were closed, and his face wore an expression of pure bliss. His fingers moved boldly on the flute, knowing exactly what he was doing. I didn't even know he knew how to play an instrument. But I guess, considering he'd been gone for so long, I couldn't really be shocked by this news.  
  
Slowly, his eyes opened. I almost gasped at the amount of pain and suffering there was, swirling in his deep blue eyes. And then, bit by bit, the pain seemed to lessen. It was as if he was using his flute to drain out the hurt, the hurt caused by all the memories of his childhood.  
  
Gently, he played a little trill on the instrument, and the music almost seemed to say, "It's all right.it's all right."  
  
For minutes I could do nothing but watch him, chestnut hair blowing softly in the winter breeze, playing the song I had heard and thought about for the past week. The music I had dreamed about, fantasized about-it belonged to him?  
  
The realization sunk in at last and I turned, leaving him alone on the rooftop. It was obviously personal, and I had no right to intrude.  
  
But then, his flute whispered to me. "Please.it's all right.don't leave."  
  
I turned to look at him, noting that his eyes had closed once again. Despite my previous qualms, I walked over to his side, looking down on the city below. It was a breathtaking sight; tiny snowflakes whirled from the clouds up above and gathered in downy piles on the branches of festively decorated trees, children in bright hats, scarves, and mittens played in the yards in front of their homes, and passerby nodded to each other gaily, passing on the good news of Christmas.  
  
"It's beautiful.this world.so beautiful." the flute breathed.  
  
I looked at him, my eyes wet with warm tears. "Why did you come up here?" I pleaded, desperate for an answer.  
  
"It's beautiful.gentle.loving." the flute continued, ignoring my words.  
  
I looked out again, but this time my eyes wandered to him. He was standing but a few feet from the edge of the skyscraper, eyes closed, flute raised to his lips. His long blue coat, so familiar, so loved, wafted in the cold breeze. A few snowflakes had fallen in his hair and eyelashes, but he made no move to brush them away. His skin had always looked pale, but now he looked complete. Perfect. For once, truly happy.  
  
Slowly, he lowered the flute, but didn't open his eyes. "I wondered if anyone down there heard me," he murmured, lowering his head to his chest. "Every day I come up here to play. And every time I go back into my office, I can't help but question if anyone cares.if anyone even cares about me at all."  
  
I didn't quite know what to say to that. "It was a beautiful song," I said quickly, afraid what my silence might mean to him.  
  
He laughed slightly, but there was no warmth in it. "That was my life, you know. I put my entire life into that song, left nothing out. And I played it."  
  
It hit me in a flash. All that pain, all the anguish I'd heard in the song.that was what he had felt his entire life. The hurt was real, the sorrow-every part of that song was completely his own suffering turned into a heartfelt melody.  
  
"Why?" I whispered.  
  
He frowned slightly. "I came up here a week ago with the intent to jump. Life just wasn't worth it anymore. Nothing."  
  
"But you didn't," I pressed gently, eager to hear his story but not wanting to cause him more grief than he already felt.  
  
"No," he murmured. "You walked by just as I looked down, you and your friends. And for some reason, I didn't want to leave. I decided to stay, for a while at least." He looked down at the flute still in his hand. "I taught myself how to play a while back. So that's what I did. I played. And it helped, did you know that? It really seemed to take the pain away."  
  
"I've always felt that way," I agreed, glancing at my violin.  
  
He opened his eyes and looked away, as if unable to meet my gaze. "They'll probably be wondering where you are."  
  
"It doesn't matter, really. They all know I usually do my own thing, anyway."  
  
And now, he laughed. "Yes, don't I know it," he replied, turning those big blue eyes on me. "Well, if you'd like to stay a while longer, I don't mind some company."  
  
He raised the flute to his lips again and began to play. I only listened for a few seconds before I realized what to do. Quickly, I opened my violin's case and drew it out, admiring the way the bright wood gleamed. I raised it and the bow, waiting for the right moment. And then, as he began a soft, lilting melody, I joined him.  
  
He looked over at me, eyes wide and startled. But I just rose and moved next to him, closing my eyes and playing from the heart. Whether it was a tune I already knew or a random string of notes that begged to be set free, I played my violin on that rooftop amongst the steady stream of snowflakes.  
  
And after a few moments, he raised his flute and began to play with me.  
  
I can't tell you how long our duet went on. For all I know, Time could have paused in its eternal loop to listen to our melody. But this time, it didn't matter who heard our music. It didn't matter how much pain or suffering we'd been through. For this one sweet song, all that mattered was that we were there.  
  
At last our song drew to a close, ending with one final, pleased sigh from the flute. He set down his instrument, as did I, and turned to look at me. "You.you did that.for me?" he whispered unsteadily.  
  
I nodded, offering him a blissful smile. "For you."  
  
He looked down, eyes sliding over my violin. "Spending Christmas with your friends?"  
  
"Most likely," I replied, waiting patiently for his true intent.  
  
"You could drop by my place.you're welcome to come, if you want."  
  
I smiled at him again, gathering together my things. "Come on, let's go inside. It's cold out here."  
  
He nodded gratefully. "All right."  
  
And with that, he walked back inside the building.  
  
Just as he left, I picked up my violin and played a few notes of my favorite Christmas carol-We Wish You a Merry Christmas. Then, closing the case, I followed him inside. But before I left the crisp air behind, I whispered three words to the wind.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Seto."  
  
~*~  
  
Awww.I had fun writing this story. So pretty! So snuggly! So cute!  
  
Seto: That was.interesting.  
  
Yami: Hey, I liked it.  
  
Seto: Flutes rock.  
  
Yami: It's interesting that she picked that, because Macavity doesn't play the flute.  
  
Seto: She did it because of that picture she drew.  
  
Yami: Yup.  
  
All right, all right, I know you're probably thinking, "Who narrated this story?" Well, that's a little present for you: this story can go with pretty much any pairing. (Except for Yugi/Seto, because they're both mentioned by name, but heck, maybe you can figure out a loophole. Who knows? It's your call.) You can decide for yourself the identity of the mysterious violin player. Heck, it could even be you! Merry Christmas to all of you! Joey the Flame Swordsman and Flamina are going to take any nasty reviews and use them to roast chestnuts when Jack Frost is nipping at noses. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! 


End file.
